this is how we burn
by ambivia
Summary: Why do we fall in love so easy, even when it's not right? —edo!gruvia, graduation au. for Lauren.


**notes—** anon on tumblr requested _regrets—edo!juvia_. this trainwreck happened.

i have a lot of complicated feelings about this one, i guess. it's not in my usual style, i wrote it in one sitting, and it's minimal on the romance, so that's weird. but also, i just graduated and all my friends are either still at school, going to different universities, or starting jobs in faraway cities, so i am a mixed bag of messy feelings and philophobia right now and i may have projected hella hard on this poor girl. ugh. still, i think it falls within edo!juvia's character to light herself on fire to keep the people she loves warm.

 **dedication:** happy (early) birthday,  hotrodren! you have no idea who i am but this ship is tiny and i just really love birthdays. have a lovely day!  
also, momocicerone— i may have seen the light.

 **soundtrack** **(compulsory listening okay, this song _ruined_ me):** try—p!nk

* * *

 **this is how we burn**

;;

 _feel the warmth, **we'll never die**_  
 _— we're like diamonds in the sky._

.

.

Packing is weird. Moving out is weird. Living in an apartment alone is gonna be _really_ weird.

The clothes are the easy part. Juvia's got a pretty fixed wardrobe; she can recycle through her clothes for a good two months and not repeat a single outfit. She's a master of mix-and-match. Shoes, again, easy. All the necessities — laptop, towels, pots and pans, that ugly table her father won't let her throw out despite it's wonky leg — that's all a no-brainer, and she can toss them into the back of her car with minimal pondering and next to no fuss.

It's the other stuff that stalls her. Boxes upon boxes from under the bed of photographs and letters and old school essays. Photographs of her and Lucy in diapers, Layla Ashley scowling at the camera in her usual fashion. The two of them as awkward twelve-year-olds at birthday parties of girls Juvia can't even remember the names of anymore. And high school, where a pink-haired mouse (and Juvia's saving grace, the truest kindred spirit she's ever met) enters the picture, stuck to her best friend's side like a guardian angel. Lucy's pained glowers mellow out into exasperation and grudging affection, and the more photographs Juvia flips through, the more people join them in the pictures. Levy and Juvia — a match made in heaven, without a doubt. Gajeel, the best English teacher to grace Fairy High since Laxus in the art department. The first-year trip to Okinawa with the whole gang.

All the photographs have a warm tint to them, soaked in reds and browns and yellows; the sakura pink of Natsu's hair, the sandy maroon bricks of their school, the orange-blue sky — everything she remembers feels like it's wrapped in a flame, hot and alive and protected. The one's with the curling corner's, dog-eared with reference, are the best ones. She can't remember when she took them, why she owns them. Those memories are overcome, saturated, and completely painted over by the evenings spent with Lucy waiting for the boys to finish volleyball practice, the nostalgia every long train journey to the city demanded. Juvia's a hoarder, and her prized possessions are the pictures she goes back to over and over. The one's she knows so well, she can see them on the back of her eyelids when she close her eyes against inexplicable tears.

Lucy finds her two hours later sitting on her carpet with paper strewn across the entire room. It's not that she's crying— 'c-cause she's _not_ , she's just— just _remembering_ , okay?

Lucy— _Queen Tsundere Lucy Ashley_ — doesn't even try to hide her laughter _or_ her tears, which surprises Juvia perhaps more than it should considering how long they've known each other. They go through the last two years — the best two years, the most important time of Juvia's life — together, laughing at stupid faces and pointing out the worst selfies in the bunch. It's around midway through second year that... that Gray Surge appears.

By that time, of course, Juvia was well-used to his company — how could she not be? He was her best friend's boyfriend's best friend. It just took him a year and a half of building up the courage to actually hang out with everyone outside of school, apparently. _God,_ what a weirdo.

It was only later _that_ year, when he'd spent enough time around her for two two of them to be on a first-name basis, that he confessed to her. The first time.

At the time, it was awful. Almost completely threw them all apart, almost broke up the friendships Juvia had been nurturing for two years. The way he never gave up, the way he wouldn't leave her alone, how even the most innocent of conversations ended up on the awkward subject — God, it was _terrible._ But now, looking back, all she can do is laugh with Lucy. Every time they find a picture of him looking at her with a gaze full of adoration — the school festival in third year, the group's university-scouting trip to Tokyo in the winter of second year, that god-awful beach trip where it wouldn't stop raining — her heart still hurts like it used to, seeing him with a broken heart and knowing that _she_ did that, but cushioning that ache is the knowledge that—

that it's _over_. That all she's left with is a list of what they never got to be.

That they're both gonna move on, move out into the world, move away from this town and all the messy teenage feelings that kept her walking on eggshells around someone who, for all intents and purposes, probably should have been her close friend. That she's done with mornings spent murmuring lazily to his happy 'good mornings', that she'll probably never see him on a day-to-day basis agian — that _that part of her life_ is, for all intents and purposes, nothing but a memory now. That the only place Gray Surge is going to be in her life, the only place she's allowed to hold him now, is in photographs in boxes hidden under her bed. All that heat, all that passion, all those looks — they're just the colours of fire on pieces of paper. That's all he can be to her now.

The worst thing is that, at the end of the day, Juvia— well, she _really liked_ Gray Surge. It's kind of sad if she thinks about it — _really sad_ , a fucking tragedy. She can't help but think of all the things they could have had. They got along really well together before— before he... _fell_ for her, whatever. She really enjoyed talking to him. He was smart, and funny, and that glint he got in his eye when he was talking about something that he was really passionate about — she really, really, really liked that about him. The way he stood up for Natsu when Lucy took things to far (shaking like a leaf the whole time), how he gave Natsu enough slaps on the back to help him develop the spine to ask Lucy out, the way he'd quirk his eyebrows at Levy suggestively across the classroom every time she flirted with Gajeel when he was trying to teach class— it makes Juvia want to laugh, but she also wants to cry at the same time. It's the worst feeling. _It's the best._ It really hurts, but the pain tastes like laughter during lunchtimes and stealing food from friends and the frantic way everyone would copy Elfman's homework on Monday.

It hurts, because Juvia and Gray had to grow up, and he had to fall for her in a way that threatened to break up every friendship around them, and it was _her damn fault_ , and she could have ruined _everything_. And it hurts because— because _she didn't_ , but, right now, looking at pictures of the boy with scruffy hair and lovestruck eyes, it feels like she lost something more important. Like she was too busy protecting her back from knives to realise the treasure that was in front of her — in front of her, until it _wasn't_ anymore. Until she won, and he was gone.

She had dealt with it the only way she knew how; distanced herself, and it was all such a mess of empty words before anything could begin or end. Juvia has trouble disassociating all the layers of coats with his repeated offers to give them to her on cold nights spent in the park; she can't _help_ but think of his pained expression, his pinched eyebrows and downturned mouth, every time she tried to brush him off over-casually. Even when she sees him and Natsu teasing each other at the amusement park during the third-year trip, all she can remember is how he dragged her onto the LoveBoat ride and those excruciating four minutes.

Juvia got crueller and crueller; Gray got more desperate with each passing day. Laughing with him when Lucy chased Natsu to the city centre, walking along the pier while their best friends argued to kingdom come, teasingly stealing his scarf and that smile he got, that _fucking_ smile— but also the way he smiled when he caught her and Bora making out behind the volleyball courts, how his eyes crinkled and his cheeks were red but his face was so pale, and his hands, his hands, his shaking, clenched hands... His stuttered apology, that shaking voice, and Lucy's shouting, her trembling yells that night when she learned that Juvia didn't chase him, 'cause Juvia didn't, she didn't, she let him walk away, she _wanted_ him to close the door, she had to make him forget about his heart so she could keep hers.

But now she's looking at the pictures and all she sees are all the empty spaces beside her where he was supposed to be — because Juvia knew it, she _knew_ any relationship they might have tried to have would have thrown their friends apart, would have broken up the bonds she had with the most important people in her life. And she couldn't take that, she couldn't; Juvia refused, and _refuses_ , to be the reason why she loses touch with the ones she loves. She won't be the one to destroy it. She'd rather freeze to death than let Gray Surge's fire, his burning touch and warm words, burn her to the ground.

She could have ruined everything, because—and looking back, she wonders, but at the time, she _knew_ — that it was _her fucking fault_. But now, looking, remembering, reliving through photographs, she knows— she _realises_ that maybe, somehow, maybe maybe _maybe_ she could have _had_ everything instead. In the end, she got through high school with enough burns to scar her for a lifetime, but none from Gray — _no fire with him, not him_ — and that was supposed to be a good fucking thing.

But now she's sitting with her best friend on her bedroom floor crying over the boy she never gave a chance, and she wonders if she made the right choice when she told herself she would never fall in love with a boy like Gray Surge — with a boy who wanted to give her the world just for the chance to belong in hers. Because if she had given in to that, if she'd let those embers in, her world—her _friends_ — would have burned with her. And she'd do anything, _still_ do anything, to keep that from happening. But the thing is, the thing _is_ — what if it wouldn't have burned in the first place? What if she'd been _wrong_?

It's in the final months of third year that any pictures of the two of them disappear altogether.

Juvia remembers, though. She remembers how he distanced himself with laughed apologies; _'Sorry, I'm working late tonight!'_ , _'Sorry, I'd love to, but—"_ , _'Sorry_ — _Sorry— **Sorry—** '_She's sorry. She's _sorry_ , Gray, and it hits her like a freight train, with a pressure she can't bear, force she can't stand against, and she's so fucking sorry.

Juvia doesn't realise she's saying it out loud, that she's sitting in the middle of the floor sobbing into her hands and apologising to empty air, until Lucy's shaking her by the shoulders, murmuring, "Juvia, Juvia, what's wrong? It's okay, _hey_ —"

Except it's not, it's not, it's _not_ — "I was so mean to him, Lucy, I-I was awful!" she says brokenly through her fingers. "I couldn't _r-ruin_ everything, but I ruined it for _him_ , didn't I? Didn't I!? I ruined it for _him_!"

The hand on her back is warm and comforting, rubbing slow soft circles into the tense muscles of her hunches shoulders. It just makes Juvia cry harder. "You didn't, Juvia, nothing's ruined, it's okay," Lucy coos, her voice incredibly _un-Lucy-like_ ; she's being sweet and gentle and all the things Juvia knows Lucy's scared of showing the world. But it reminds Juvia how lucky she is to have such amazing friends and it contrasts with the guilt of hurting Gray so much, because this was so worth protecting, because she'd rather have the blanket of friendship than the fire of love _any_ day — until she remembers that Gray was the best of them all, the one she laughed the most with, the one who always had her back, the one who shouted when they called her a slut and the one who drank milkshakes with her after her smooth, clean, ice-cold break-ups. A desperate idiot, a lion in a rabbit's body, a nonsensical lunatic, a walking contradiction, clueless about everything but willing to jump in head-first anyway, Gray Surge was her _friend_ too, and she let herself _forget that_ —

Lucy cuts her off before Juvia can try to stutter the words her heart's been holding on to for too long. "Look, Juvia, we've been friends from before I knew what friends were, and I'm telling you, that's not how it was, okay? You weren't the only stupid one. He fucked up, too, _so many times_. Okay? It wasn't just you— and hell, it wasn't even the two of you, but it was me and Natsu, too, okay. We all could have done better, but we did okay, Juvia, we really did okay, you got that?"

Juvia just shakes her head in confusion, wiping stubbornly at her cheeks. No, she _doesn't_ get it.

"Like—" Lucy looks like she's struggling for words, but her soothing hand is still patting Juvia like she's fragile and her voice is hushed. "Well, I guess, I mean— Look, I need to apologise to you, too, okay? Both me and Natsu, we had so many chances to talk to you and Gray, work things out, but— but I was scared, you know? I was _scared._ " Once she's said the words, it's like a weight has lifted from Lucy's shoulders. Juvia's eyes widen in surprise before she help herself. "I didn't want things to change. You guys, you were so good at... at _not_ being together, like, we had a flow and that _worked_ for us, and I was just scared that if Natsu and I actually— actually _helped_ , we might have ended up fucking it all up and you would have never spoken to me again, and I know Gray was hurting but fuck that, _you're_ my best friend and you come first, and I couldn't _lose_ you to him, so I—"

"You'd never lose me to anyone, idiot!" Juvia ends up laughing through stupid tears.

"I _know_ that! But Gray wouldn't stop with the— with everything!" Lucy rubs at her own eyes, grinning. "Confessing to you at the worst times, and— God, all the stupid shit he pulled, with that haunted house during second year and the maze in Okinawa, remember that? And you were so adamant on— well, I thought you didn't want anything to change either, and it was just _easier_ to pretend I couldn't see him hurting if it meant you were happy. If it meant we could all be happy. 'Cause he was happy, Juvia, we were _all_ happy. What we had, our friends — that _worked_ , you know? And... and fucking with that was too scary to— to _try_."

The snort that huffs out of Juvia's mouth is confused, bitter, happy, relieved. "'Cause if I had said yes, everything would have been ruined. Everyone'd have to pick sides and— and spy and stuff. We'd have been a mess. Right?"

Lucy shrugs and sniffs violently. "You guys would have been the worst on-and-off couple to grace this town."

"Right."

"Right."

The silence that slowly descends around them is like a cloud of comfort. Juvia's heart swells with affection when Lucy scrubs at her nose with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath, rubs at her damp cheeks like a _child_. 'Cause they're both not kids anymore, are they? They aren't fourteen and desperate for a relationship. They aren't sixteen and terrified of one. They're older, and better at hurting, and so much kinder to themselves when things go wrong. They've been burned. They now how to handle their own sparks, their own fires, their own flames.

She was probably right at the time, Juvia wonders, shakily nudging at the last picture in the box, the last from their third year, the last one they ever took all together. 'Cause it wouldn't have worked out with Gray, not then — or at least, the risk was too great, she cared too much about more precious things than their fickle hearts to barter it all on a relationship which might have crashed and burned. The picture is of all of them, everyone — even him. They have sparklers in their hands, the beach fire casting flickering shadows on Natsu's face and emphasising all the angles of his face — 'cause he lost the baby fat, he _finally_ did, and what was underneath ended up being the meanest jawline Juvia's ever seen. Lucy's kissing his cheek as if she didn't spend the last two years terrified of showing affection, half- _laughing_ into the crook of his neck. The skyline is a fiery orange, the ocean reflecting the flames.

For the first time in any of the photographs on Juvia's bedroom floor, Gray Surge is not looking at her. His arm is around her shoulder, and he's grinning in the way he always was around her, he's got _that smile_ , the best smile — but... he's looking at the camera. He's finally looking forward. And again, with the unavoidable force of a summer tsunami, it hits her that while she was growing up and learning that love wasn't all that scary — looking at Lucy and Natsu and wondering if maybe it was okay to be with someone who could hurt you if you knew, you really _knew_ , that they _wouldn't_ — he was growing and learning and hurting and getting better at just being, _too._

Juvia wonders if, if they met again as strangers right now, at this moment, they might have... Could they have—?

"Lucy, do you think it could have worked out? At the time? Do you think Gray and I should have tried?" The words slip out, and she doesn't care, she doesn't even _care_ , she wants to know what her best friend — her best friend, who's always been by her side, who expresses her love with shouts and snide remarks, who leaves bruises on her boyfriend's neck and pretends they aren't hickeys — she wants to know what _Lucy_ thinks.

And thank God, thank every star in the sky, because Lucy Ashley takes the question as seriously as she's ever taken anything, and weighs it in her mind like it's precious and made of glass, before answering. Like she knows exactly what it means to Juvia. "Bear with, okay. Literature major and all that, just— just hear me out. I think love's like fire, and it can burn and destroy and fuck everything up if it takes the wrong turn. Okay? Or, you know, it can give you the warmth to thaw out, like, the energy to keep waking up on Monday mornings with a smile, maybe? I guess it all just depends on—... on how far you're willing to take it, I suppose. It's as fickle as fire, as hot and fast and unavoidable, and you it might depend on how good you are at— at, like, _handling_ torches and bonfires and wildfires and explosions. You gotta know how how to _work_ it, I guess. There's a lot that can go wrong, but if it goes right, nothing's better, you know? You know that quote, love is friendship set on fire or whatever. Well, fire brought the cavemen out of their cave, so— I don't fucking know, I'm not sure where I'm going with this."

When Lucy throws her hands up in defeat and settles for scowlilng lightly at the picture in Juvia's hand, but it's okay, 'cause as convoluted and strange and generically Lucy that description was, Juvia gets it this time. She thinks she _gets it_. "And what if you _can't_ handle it? What if the rain puts the blaze out or something? What the hell do you do then?"

 _What does she do if they try, if they finally finally try, and it fails?_

Lucy shrugs. Picking up the picture of the bonfire on the beach, the last picture, the one where they're all grown up and different and as in love with the world as they can be, she examines it with a distracted eye. "You get burned, you treat it, and you try again. Probably."

"And—" God, does she even wanna know? Does she really need to ask this? "What if you've burned everything down and the fire gets out of control? What if everything's ashes that have blown away in the wind and you're— Ah," she trails off at Lucy's quirked eyebrow. "This metaphor got a bit out of hand, didn't it?"

"You think?" Lucy snorts. Her smile is still watery, _that little liar._ " _Ashes blowing away in the wind_ , Jesus Christ, Juvia."

"Fuck off. It took you a year to kiss your damned boyfriend, you shouldn't be giving love advice anyway."

"W-Well, you're still crying, so."

"Moron."

"Bitch."

The two girls grin at each other, hands over the memories of everything they've been so far, and laugh. _God,_ they're idiots. They're still kids after all — but they're kids with scars, they're kids who can carry their own embers, who have fuel in their hearts and fingers finally nimble enough to light it. That isn't nothing. Because Lucy was right — they could have done better, so much fucking better, but in the end, after the photographs are packed back in the boxes and the boxes are in the back of a car and she's driving to a city that doesn't know her name, Juvia knows she really, really, _really_ did okay.

.

.

 _where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame;_  
 _where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned._  
 _but just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die—_  
 _you've gotta get up and try,  
try, try._

;;

Ready and waiting, Juvia finds herself once again examining that last picture. It hangs by her bed, somewhere she can always see — right beside the post-it note on which Lucy scribbled her and Natsu's apartment number, and underneath Gray's address, Levy's dorm number. Stuck on the wall, a glimpse into the past, walled in with reminders that change isn't the end. That change doesn't _have_ to mean ashes and rubble and dust.

Juvia's better at stoking embers and treating burns. She'd walk through fire for her friends, but— but she's coming to terms with the fact that she doesn't _have_ to. That it's not the end of the world to let someone know, hold, _be in_ hers.

A knock breaks her from her reverie and has her staring at the door. When she leaps up to answer it, a boy with scruffy hair and lovestruck eyes leans against the open door frame. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he grins crookedly — and Juvia catches it, throws it right back. "Everyone's waiting downstairs."

She nods; glances back one time before following him down the corridor and letting the door slip shut behind her. Eighteen and scarred and still probably terrified of burning too hard and too fast, Juvia reaches out and grazes her fingertips along the back of his own twitching hand. "G-Gray, fucking hold it already. Don't make me do all— all the _work_ , damn you."

It's messy. It's so fucking messy, all words-over-words and cracked corners and rooms covered in dust. They're terrible at it, honestly. He hasn't looked at anyone for years, and she's been covering her eyes for even longer. They've been stumbling around in the dark for two months now, bumping and bruising their way along rough walls and hoping the ground won't give way under their feet — but it's alright because he's got the brightest flames she's ever seen, and she handles the torch like a third limb.

Because if love really is like fire—if the heat from his fingers is a raging blaze, if the coals in her chest and the spark in his eyes really could _destroy_ —then Juvia would want to burn with him.


End file.
